the sea of marching madnesseach face a lifea heartbeateach one with a different beata purpose a hope under the surfacea lighta darknesseach smileeach wave goodbye, hellonext thing you knowa smile gone the heartbeat breaksair unmoved no nothing quakes it was a facea life a beat erased each beat is beat.

I never feel that I am productive. Not productive enough.Change the world somehow, everyday. Those are my standards and I have never met them. So I have to sit with myself every night.Feeling disappointment and self loathing."You didn't do anything great today,"a voice taunts me. "Why are you even here if you don't contribute."But what is contribution really?Can't it be small?It has to be small because I can't make it big. I have to learn to appreciate my small self. If I make someone smile, if I write a poem,if I walk the dogs, why can't those things count?I have to learn to count thembecause they are all I have. I can't be great but I can be good in small ways and who knows, maybe they will add up to great someday.

I define you. Whatever you are, is only because of me.How dare you run further than my thoughts allow. The very essence of your being is through my feelings, understand your boundaries. I've placed you in this space for my own purpose. You will not defy what I will have you to be. In the very breath that I whisper empty promises,Even with my lies, still you have no choice in this matter. Without me there is no you.

I know I'm running out of timefear has stolen what is minelegs stuck, unable to movetoo many roads in life, which one to choose?2 steps forward , 5 steps backmy life's purpose is under attackI hate defeat, can't stand to losedamn this mid twenties blues

She is the girl who hides like a hermit at the shell of her typewriterWith the sound of bells and rings to each of her linesShe is well aware she was born at the wrong era of timeShe very much knows that her soul is older than her mindShe makes mistakes, similar to the ones you make in lifeThe ones you can't eraseJust another note to crumbleJust another paper to replace She starts fresh with her chin and shoulders held high Unplugged to the noise that comes from outside Fingers placed delicately in line as they wait for the command of her ordersComposing the keys that pound against the ink ribbonChick-chick-chaw-chick-chick-bingAn orchestration of the typewriter as the mind begins to singShe is the girl who moves you by the utterance of her writingShe is driven with a purpose, there is reason to her hiding.

Forgive this wandering drop,It knows not from whence it came.Searching for reunion, seeping through the cracks.Finding paths in the grit of texture, high and low alike.Feeling submersed in the Abyss of Words.

Follow the collection that hath pooled in a lovers talk.Billow in the thoughts projected from a Mothers gaze.Lift thine eyes to the Rays cast on a dawning blaze.Flow with the currents rage smashing against stolen days.

Jetting forward upon life's eternal ocean.Only to find recession in syncopated order.Intensity stricken by neglectful resistance to nature's simplicity.Perceive a drop in a boundless sea reuniting with purpose.Rippled in calm after the wreckage of waves forsaken to a heedless be.